Expectations of Survival
By Ginzai
Warnings for OotP spoilers and slight -slight- language. EoS takes place as a missing scene shortly before the end of Order.
________________________________________
Pity the child who has ambition
Knows what he wants to do
Knows that he'll never fit the system
Others expect him to
Pity the child who knew his parents
Saw their faults, saw their love die before his eyes
Pity the child that wise
-"Pity the Child," Chess Soundtrack
--------------------------------------
Snape and Draco watched as Potter's figure disappeared back towards the Great Hall. Draco scowled at it, wishing entirely that the other boy would burst into flames at the heat of his glare. This didn't happen, regretfully, but the thought of Potter rolling about the floor while shrieking in agony was a pleasant one and it helped restore his mood a touch.
"Draco," Snape said calmly, "You really oughtn't to antagonize him."
The scowl came back.
"He insulted my family, Professor. I'd the right to."
"Regardless, Draco, it does your family no good to appear so violently against our ever heroic savior."
Draco snorted.
"My family," he said, carefully emphasizing the word, "Seems to be doing a good enough job ruining our name regardless. Insulting Scarhead a few times isn't going to do us much worse. He's an arrogant prat anyway. Popping a hole in that inflated ego of his ought to do him some good."
Snape's face seemed carefully blank.
"Why do you say that?" He queried softly, and Draco somehow got the impression that his words would be taken very seriously.
"He thinks that he knows everything," Draco said crossly, crossing his arms and transferring his glare up to the Potions Master. "That because *Dumbledore* has faith in him, the rest of us do. He thinks that he can get away with it all, with sneaking out of Hogwarts, with running away, getting people killed. If that had been anyone else, they'd have been expelled! I'd love to see McGonnagall give points to *Slytherin* for telling the world that the Dark Lord is back. Honest, I'd love to see that. She had a hard enough time granting them to Ravenclaw, didn't she?"
Snape raised an eyebrow at him but let Draco continue to rant.
"Thinks he knows it all," Draco muttered, and leaned back against the wall. He stared at the four House bulbs, each filled with an amount of House Points. There were more emeralds than anything else, though those last sapphires had tipped the Ravenclaw scale dangerously close to being the fullest.
"He doesn't know anything."
"No," Snape agreed, "He doesn't. No one knows anything, really." Draco started to speak, but the dark haired professor cut him off with a curt wave of one hand. He started to walk back down the right corridor that Draco had just come from, motioning for the boy to follow. Still frowning, Draco followed.
It wasn't a long walk back to Snape's office, for which Draco was grateful. It gave him a much needed opportunity to school his face back into submission and get some control over his turmultous emotions. He had the idea that Snape was, finally, going to give him some answers and he did not want to loose this opportunity. At the very least, he'd have chance to ask questions, and that was more than most had received recently.
Snape's office was, as always, a dark and gloomy place. Shelves lined the walls, each covered with dusty jars and bottles of rare potions supplies and dead animals suspended in viscous fluid. Draco made a face at his reflection in them, thinking it odd to see both himself and the dull, flat gaze of a drowned kelpie in the glass. He didn't like Snape's office. He never had. Years of experience with it took most of the shock, but it always seemed a chill, barren sort of place. Draco wasn't sure how Snape could stand it, and thought that it was more because he spent so little time in it than any love for the decor.
Snape didn't pay any attention to jars, dust, or gloom. Instead he moved behind his desk, carefully avoiding knocking over the stacks of books which rose from the floor. He sat and reached in a drawer for a kettle.
"Tea?" He asked.
"Sure," Draco said and Snape flicked his wand at the kettle. The bottom immediately turned red hot. Placing it down on his desk, Snape steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, watching Draco intently.
"You seemed to have some questions, Draco. What are they?"
The dreadful curiosity which had been haunting Draco since the night before rose up again and he found himself blurting out a question before he could even modulate his voice and try to remove some of the passion from it.
"Was it true? Was my father really arrested at the Ministry for trying to kill Potter?"
There was a long silence, then a barely discernable nod. Draco laughed bitterly at it and stomped over to the chair in front of the desk. He sat down heavily and a cloud of dust rose from it.
"Figures. You know, I thought... I truly thought that he was *smarter* than that. I knew he was a Death Eater, he's all but told me, but dammit, Professor, I didn't think he'd be *caught* like that, like some common criminal. Father's supposed to be the intelligent one, he's a planner, and he always thinks things out in advance. I've expected a lot of things from him, but stupidity wasn't one of them.
"Now it's all ruined, isn't it? Father's in Azkaban, Mother's in denial again. She won't admit anything's wrong. She wrote me an owl last night and said Father had been called away for an unexpected business trip. Then it turns out that the only professor who's ever liked us, aside from you of course, is a raving sadistic maniac with a fondness for the Unforgivables. The Slytherins are all confused and none of them know what to do. I sure as hell don't. Everything's falling apart and I don't know how to fix it."
Snape looked somehow perturbed, as though he'd not been aware of his students' distress and rather regretted it. He covered it by fishing back in his desk for two rather battered looking tea cups. They were a pale green with a silver line about, and both were quite chipped. A set of saucers soon accompanied them.
"I know that I've not been around as often as I should have, Draco." Snape said at last. "I apologize for that."
Draco waved a hand at the words. "You're busy, I know that. I wish you'd tell us with what, but I can understand why you don't want to. I just wish I knew _why_..."
He scowled again. It seemed an almost permanent expression on his face, and had been since he'd received the Ministry's owl the night before.
/We write to inform you that Lucius Malfoy, 41, has been taken into Ministry custody for attacking Ministry officials, Hogwarts students, breaking and entering, attempted theft of Ministry property, attempted murder, multiple usage of Unforgivable curses, and affiliations with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... There will be no trial... Execution is set for July 25, 1996..../
He looked up again. Snape's face was shadowed and the light in the room was dim. It hid the professor's expression, locked it behind a dark veil, and it made Draco entirely uncomfortable.
"You say that Father was caught at the Ministry," Draco said lowly, "And You-Know-Who was there as well? He was defeated again, barely managed to escape Dumbledore, they said. It was in the Prophet this morning."
He winced slightly, remembering the reaction to that particular article at the Slytherin breakfast table. It seemed that no one else had received an owl the night before and there were several shocked faces. More than just Draco's family had members who were arrested, and all of them seemed to have been clamoring for details. Since Snape hadn't been there, Draco had been the only one who knew anything. Dealing with the fallout had not been pleasant.
"And Father told me, over winter, that Moody wasn't the _real_ one, that he was really some bloke named Crouch. Father said that he was one of the Death Eaters. Was that true too?"
Snape nodded again. Draco really wished that he'd speak more, instead of silently confirming all of his suspicions. He thought back to the year before, when Moody -Crouch, he supposed, hadn't there been a Ministry official named Crouch? - had all but tortured the Slytherins in his classes. He'd made no doubt possible about his ongoing hatred for the lot of them and told the class often how he wished that Dumbledore would smarten up and throw the lot of them out. Crouch had called them cowards and traitors and worse, and told them that they were good for nothing but kissing the Dark Lord's robes. Somehow, he seemed to hate Draco more than the rest and singled him out for worse treatment. Crouch would catch him in the halls, taking points and assigning dangerous detentions; he had a tendency to shove Draco into walls, to curse him in class, to do little damages which perhaps individually wouldn't have seen as unusual but all together added up to a painful and humiliating year.
Draco had hated the man with a fervor that went beyond even his loathing for Dumbledore, even past the long term enmity he held for Potter. It was a fact which surprised him at the time, and it shocked him now to realize that there were Death Eaters out there who Draco could hate even more than he could the patronizing Headmaster and his precious pet. That anyone could be so petty, that he could bother to take out his frustrations on the sons and daughters of those who were supposed to have been his blood sworn brethren, boggled Draco, and he found himself coming to an unpleasant conclusion whenever he thought about it. As a result, he often tried not to.
"Nothing's happening like it's supposed to," he added darkly, "Father's not untouchable anymore, Mother's just sticking her head in the sand, and the Death Eaters, they aren't-"
"What you thought they'd be, perhaps?" Snape seemed somehow amused at this. "Draco, you'll find that many things aren't as you'd expected. Perhaps the Death Eaters least of all."
Draco laughed hollowly. "You trying to tell me that Potter's actually a good and noble guy who deserves my support and adoration?"
"Heavens no," Snape said and he sounded disgusted at the thought. "That idiot has enough people fawning over him. He's an arrogant fop who deserves nothing more than to be expelled. I hope that you realize that if I ever catch you doing the same as his misguided fan club, you'll be getting an unexpected and quite nasty draught of boils in your pumpkin juice."
The silver haired boy snickered at that, unable to help it.
"At least you wouldn't take House Points."
"I should think not. It's bad enough that no one else would award them to you; I'm certainly not going to take any away. Mind, you would also receive a month's worth of detentions, all likely in the Forest."
"God forbid," Draco murmured with a mock shudder. He hated the Forest, a fact that Snape was well aware of. "Sir?"
"Hm?"
"They aren't a brotherhood, are they? The Death Eaters, I mean."
Snape gave him an unreadable look and reached forward to grab the kettle which had started to scream. His dark brows furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking very hard about what to say next. Draco didn't really expect an answer. He'd had his suspicions about Snape and the Death Eaters. Though the man had never admitted it, Draco was certain that he was, or had been, one. His father had never confirmed or denied it either, and Draco wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know the truth.
Snape sighed and poured the hot water into the tea cups, seemingly mesmerized by the swirl of dark liquid the tea bags released.
"No, Draco, I'm afraid that they rather aren't. The Death Eaters are cruel, and shallow, and one would attack the next if he or she thought it would grant him the smallest crumb of the Dark Lord's favors. And as for that one, he cares little for their struggles and only for what they can grant him. He uses them and casts them aside, would torture them if bored, and kill them with as little passion as you might have for squashing a fly. He's a cold, cold man, and not one easily crossed."
He offered Draco a cup and saucer, and Draco accepted it. It wasn't truly an answer, not a definitive one to the question that had been behind the question, but at least the one had been answered.
"He won't help Father, will he? I know that the Dementors are gone, but Azkaban is still guarded by wizards. Without his wand, I don't think Father can escape. The Dark Lord could, if he wanted to."
Snape shook his head again and took a sip of tea.
"It's likely that he won't, Draco. The Dark Lord does not look kindly on failure. If the execution goes through, I doubt that he would raise a finger to help those who allowed themselves to get caught."
Draco shivered, suddenly cold again. The heat of the cup seemed to burn his chilled fingers as he pressed them tight against the hot side.
"It's far more likely that he will move to recruit you," Snape went on, and the unreadable look was back.
Draco blinked at him and nearly dropped the cup.
"What? Me? But I mean, I'm not even graduated yet, I'm no where near of age, he couldn't want to recruit me. I mean, could he?"
He looked at Snape almost wildly, realized that he looked desperate but didn't bother to try and contain his emotions. He'd always been a lousy actor, his father had told him often enough. He felt things too strongly, couldn't manage to hide how he felt, even when it caused him trouble. Snape thankfully seemed to be ignoring it.
Snape shrugged and took another sip.
"I would think so. You're a powerful wizard if, perhaps, a touch slow when dueling." He shot Draco an annoyed look. Draco flushed and realized that Snape had probably seen the pitiful attempt he had made at dueling Potter in the hall moments before. "And with your father out of commission, perhaps permanently, then it would seem that he would move to the next best thing."
The chill didn't seem to be leaving. The dungeons were often cold, but usually Draco couldn't feel it to this extent. He shuddered again and some of the tea slopped out to land with scalding heat on his leg. It burned for a moment then cooled into an icy patch on his trousers. It wasn't enough to distract him from the thoughts suddenly flying in his head, sharp as knives and just as painful.
He thought about how angry Potter's face had been when he'd rubbed it in that Lucius Malfoy, intelligent, dangerous, calmly cruel and on top of everything, Lucius Malfoy, was now in Azkaban. He thought of his mother and her note that 'everything is fine, dear, don't worry, I'll see you tomorrow, your father ought to be home by then' and the pale faces of the Slytherins as they'd crowded around him in the common room that morning, many of them seeking answers about their own parents and each of them wondering why they hadn't received owls. He remembered seeing the slight resentment on some of their faces, that a fifth year student was telling them this, while their own Head of House was no where to be seen, and how the rest had seemed more like they expected it to come from Draco and they hadn't thought of Snape at all.
He remembered the look of pleasure on Crouch's face when he had slammed Draco into the corner of a doorway, one day last year. How he'd grinned when Draco had winced, how the old man's fingers had dug into his arm and left marks like fat purple grapes on his upper arm and a line down his spine of both bruises and blood from the back of his head where Crouch had cracked against the sharp edge. Remembered the hateful, hateful tone of his voice, when he'd whispered "Like father, like son, eh? Apples don't fall far from the trees. You're just as cowardly a traitor as good old daddy, aren't you? Bloody papa's boy..." and how there had been something almost akin to jealousy mixed with the hate then in the false Moody's eyes.
"They're all like that, aren't they?" Draco whispered. His hands were trembling. He put the cup down on the edge of Snape's desk and clenched his fingers into fists which shook ever so slightly against his thighs.
"They certainly aren't the most congenial bunch," Snape said dryly. He was still watching Draco carefully, as though he expected the boy to say something of vast importance. "What would your answer be?"
It was a blunt question, lacking all Slytherin subtlety, but Draco supposed he could let that pass for the moment.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't want ...that. I don't want to be part of a group which would turn on each other like that, who would leave one another to *die* at the hands of their enemies when they could have just as easily saved them. But what's the alternative? Should I join up with Dumbledore, self proclaimed founder of the 'Let's Get Slytherin' club?"
He laughed shakily. "Some choice."
"Unfortunately," Snape said, pouring some more tea, "It's a choice which you'll have to make sooner than I'd expected. I should think He Who Must Not Be Named will be contacting you soon, likely before you return to Hogwarts next term."
"You won't tell him anything, will you?" Draco looked up, suddenly worried. If Voldemort got even the hint that Draco was unwilling to join him, he'd either be killed or placed under Imperius before he could blink. It galled him somewhat to even ask, but this was Snape, and he could show weakness, a little, with Snape more than any other person in the world.
"The Dark Lord? Or Dumbledore?"
"Both," Draco said, though he hadn't actually thought of Dumbledore's reaction. It wasn't like the headmaster would believe that Draco wasn't overly eager to join up with the Death Eaters regardless. He said as much and Snape smiled thinly.
"You might be surprised," he said cryptically, but refused to elaborate. Instead he reached across the desk and straightened the lapel of Draco's robes.
"You'd do well to think about it," he said, leaning back again. "And I think that you should follow my esteemed colleagues' advice. It truly is a lovely day out. You should spend some time in it."
Draco made a face, but stood and backed towards the door. He glanced at the now lukewarm tea.
"Thanks for the drink, Professor."
"You are most welcome. Perhaps next time you'll actually partake of it. And, Draco," the sallow skinned man hesitated for a moment. There was an emotion in his eyes, something which Draco could read entirely, but Draco didn't mind. It was better than the carefully blank expression. Snape continued. "I won't say anything to either party, regarding your decision. But... If you would like, I am always available for my students. Send an owl, if you need anything."
Draco shrugged and turned to go. He could feel Snape's beetle black eyes on him, and it made his skin itch. The corridor outside Snape's office was dark and the torches didn't seem to help much. Crammed full of dead things floating in dust covered glass jars though it was, the office seemed suddenly warmer and considerably friendlier than the outside.
Ignoring a vague feeling of trepidation, Draco stepped into the hall and let the office door swing shut behind him.
He'd spent the entire year hiding from this, playing Umbridge's games against the Gryffindors, ensuring that Slytherin took the House Cup, even if he'd lost them the Quidditch one. Looking back, it seemed he'd been as careless as a first year, hardly thinking about anything at all outside of his schoolwork and next prank, not worried in the slightest about the consequences. It had been fantastic to not worry about Moody-Crouch, to be free of that, and he'd reveled in the feeling.
Now it seemed as though there was a darker trap than anything Crouch could have composed and it was hanging over his head. He'd spent the last year enjoying being a kid. Now -Father in prison, Mother almost insane with grief, Snape a Death Eater, the Death Eaters' traitors to the cause he'd been raised to believe in /unity, power, brotherhood/ - it seemed that he'd finally have to grow up.
He squared his shoulders. Draco walked into the darkness, eyes kept firmly on the light ahead.
June 25, 2003
A response fic to Order. I know that the vision I had of Draco at the end of GoF wouldn't have acted as he had in OotP. I wanted to give, perhaps, an explanation of why he did.
As always, comments and criticism is greatly appreciated.
Ja.
By Ginzai
Warnings for OotP spoilers and slight -slight- language. EoS takes place as a missing scene shortly before the end of Order.
________________________________________
Pity the child who has ambition
Knows what he wants to do
Knows that he'll never fit the system
Others expect him to
Pity the child who knew his parents
Saw their faults, saw their love die before his eyes
Pity the child that wise
-"Pity the Child," Chess Soundtrack
--------------------------------------
Snape and Draco watched as Potter's figure disappeared back towards the Great Hall. Draco scowled at it, wishing entirely that the other boy would burst into flames at the heat of his glare. This didn't happen, regretfully, but the thought of Potter rolling about the floor while shrieking in agony was a pleasant one and it helped restore his mood a touch.
"Draco," Snape said calmly, "You really oughtn't to antagonize him."
The scowl came back.
"He insulted my family, Professor. I'd the right to."
"Regardless, Draco, it does your family no good to appear so violently against our ever heroic savior."
Draco snorted.
"My family," he said, carefully emphasizing the word, "Seems to be doing a good enough job ruining our name regardless. Insulting Scarhead a few times isn't going to do us much worse. He's an arrogant prat anyway. Popping a hole in that inflated ego of his ought to do him some good."
Snape's face seemed carefully blank.
"Why do you say that?" He queried softly, and Draco somehow got the impression that his words would be taken very seriously.
"He thinks that he knows everything," Draco said crossly, crossing his arms and transferring his glare up to the Potions Master. "That because *Dumbledore* has faith in him, the rest of us do. He thinks that he can get away with it all, with sneaking out of Hogwarts, with running away, getting people killed. If that had been anyone else, they'd have been expelled! I'd love to see McGonnagall give points to *Slytherin* for telling the world that the Dark Lord is back. Honest, I'd love to see that. She had a hard enough time granting them to Ravenclaw, didn't she?"
Snape raised an eyebrow at him but let Draco continue to rant.
"Thinks he knows it all," Draco muttered, and leaned back against the wall. He stared at the four House bulbs, each filled with an amount of House Points. There were more emeralds than anything else, though those last sapphires had tipped the Ravenclaw scale dangerously close to being the fullest.
"He doesn't know anything."
"No," Snape agreed, "He doesn't. No one knows anything, really." Draco started to speak, but the dark haired professor cut him off with a curt wave of one hand. He started to walk back down the right corridor that Draco had just come from, motioning for the boy to follow. Still frowning, Draco followed.
It wasn't a long walk back to Snape's office, for which Draco was grateful. It gave him a much needed opportunity to school his face back into submission and get some control over his turmultous emotions. He had the idea that Snape was, finally, going to give him some answers and he did not want to loose this opportunity. At the very least, he'd have chance to ask questions, and that was more than most had received recently.
Snape's office was, as always, a dark and gloomy place. Shelves lined the walls, each covered with dusty jars and bottles of rare potions supplies and dead animals suspended in viscous fluid. Draco made a face at his reflection in them, thinking it odd to see both himself and the dull, flat gaze of a drowned kelpie in the glass. He didn't like Snape's office. He never had. Years of experience with it took most of the shock, but it always seemed a chill, barren sort of place. Draco wasn't sure how Snape could stand it, and thought that it was more because he spent so little time in it than any love for the decor.
Snape didn't pay any attention to jars, dust, or gloom. Instead he moved behind his desk, carefully avoiding knocking over the stacks of books which rose from the floor. He sat and reached in a drawer for a kettle.
"Tea?" He asked.
"Sure," Draco said and Snape flicked his wand at the kettle. The bottom immediately turned red hot. Placing it down on his desk, Snape steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, watching Draco intently.
"You seemed to have some questions, Draco. What are they?"
The dreadful curiosity which had been haunting Draco since the night before rose up again and he found himself blurting out a question before he could even modulate his voice and try to remove some of the passion from it.
"Was it true? Was my father really arrested at the Ministry for trying to kill Potter?"
There was a long silence, then a barely discernable nod. Draco laughed bitterly at it and stomped over to the chair in front of the desk. He sat down heavily and a cloud of dust rose from it.
"Figures. You know, I thought... I truly thought that he was *smarter* than that. I knew he was a Death Eater, he's all but told me, but dammit, Professor, I didn't think he'd be *caught* like that, like some common criminal. Father's supposed to be the intelligent one, he's a planner, and he always thinks things out in advance. I've expected a lot of things from him, but stupidity wasn't one of them.
"Now it's all ruined, isn't it? Father's in Azkaban, Mother's in denial again. She won't admit anything's wrong. She wrote me an owl last night and said Father had been called away for an unexpected business trip. Then it turns out that the only professor who's ever liked us, aside from you of course, is a raving sadistic maniac with a fondness for the Unforgivables. The Slytherins are all confused and none of them know what to do. I sure as hell don't. Everything's falling apart and I don't know how to fix it."
Snape looked somehow perturbed, as though he'd not been aware of his students' distress and rather regretted it. He covered it by fishing back in his desk for two rather battered looking tea cups. They were a pale green with a silver line about, and both were quite chipped. A set of saucers soon accompanied them.
"I know that I've not been around as often as I should have, Draco." Snape said at last. "I apologize for that."
Draco waved a hand at the words. "You're busy, I know that. I wish you'd tell us with what, but I can understand why you don't want to. I just wish I knew _why_..."
He scowled again. It seemed an almost permanent expression on his face, and had been since he'd received the Ministry's owl the night before.
/We write to inform you that Lucius Malfoy, 41, has been taken into Ministry custody for attacking Ministry officials, Hogwarts students, breaking and entering, attempted theft of Ministry property, attempted murder, multiple usage of Unforgivable curses, and affiliations with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... There will be no trial... Execution is set for July 25, 1996..../
He looked up again. Snape's face was shadowed and the light in the room was dim. It hid the professor's expression, locked it behind a dark veil, and it made Draco entirely uncomfortable.
"You say that Father was caught at the Ministry," Draco said lowly, "And You-Know-Who was there as well? He was defeated again, barely managed to escape Dumbledore, they said. It was in the Prophet this morning."
He winced slightly, remembering the reaction to that particular article at the Slytherin breakfast table. It seemed that no one else had received an owl the night before and there were several shocked faces. More than just Draco's family had members who were arrested, and all of them seemed to have been clamoring for details. Since Snape hadn't been there, Draco had been the only one who knew anything. Dealing with the fallout had not been pleasant.
"And Father told me, over winter, that Moody wasn't the _real_ one, that he was really some bloke named Crouch. Father said that he was one of the Death Eaters. Was that true too?"
Snape nodded again. Draco really wished that he'd speak more, instead of silently confirming all of his suspicions. He thought back to the year before, when Moody -Crouch, he supposed, hadn't there been a Ministry official named Crouch? - had all but tortured the Slytherins in his classes. He'd made no doubt possible about his ongoing hatred for the lot of them and told the class often how he wished that Dumbledore would smarten up and throw the lot of them out. Crouch had called them cowards and traitors and worse, and told them that they were good for nothing but kissing the Dark Lord's robes. Somehow, he seemed to hate Draco more than the rest and singled him out for worse treatment. Crouch would catch him in the halls, taking points and assigning dangerous detentions; he had a tendency to shove Draco into walls, to curse him in class, to do little damages which perhaps individually wouldn't have seen as unusual but all together added up to a painful and humiliating year.
Draco had hated the man with a fervor that went beyond even his loathing for Dumbledore, even past the long term enmity he held for Potter. It was a fact which surprised him at the time, and it shocked him now to realize that there were Death Eaters out there who Draco could hate even more than he could the patronizing Headmaster and his precious pet. That anyone could be so petty, that he could bother to take out his frustrations on the sons and daughters of those who were supposed to have been his blood sworn brethren, boggled Draco, and he found himself coming to an unpleasant conclusion whenever he thought about it. As a result, he often tried not to.
"Nothing's happening like it's supposed to," he added darkly, "Father's not untouchable anymore, Mother's just sticking her head in the sand, and the Death Eaters, they aren't-"
"What you thought they'd be, perhaps?" Snape seemed somehow amused at this. "Draco, you'll find that many things aren't as you'd expected. Perhaps the Death Eaters least of all."
Draco laughed hollowly. "You trying to tell me that Potter's actually a good and noble guy who deserves my support and adoration?"
"Heavens no," Snape said and he sounded disgusted at the thought. "That idiot has enough people fawning over him. He's an arrogant fop who deserves nothing more than to be expelled. I hope that you realize that if I ever catch you doing the same as his misguided fan club, you'll be getting an unexpected and quite nasty draught of boils in your pumpkin juice."
The silver haired boy snickered at that, unable to help it.
"At least you wouldn't take House Points."
"I should think not. It's bad enough that no one else would award them to you; I'm certainly not going to take any away. Mind, you would also receive a month's worth of detentions, all likely in the Forest."
"God forbid," Draco murmured with a mock shudder. He hated the Forest, a fact that Snape was well aware of. "Sir?"
"Hm?"
"They aren't a brotherhood, are they? The Death Eaters, I mean."
Snape gave him an unreadable look and reached forward to grab the kettle which had started to scream. His dark brows furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking very hard about what to say next. Draco didn't really expect an answer. He'd had his suspicions about Snape and the Death Eaters. Though the man had never admitted it, Draco was certain that he was, or had been, one. His father had never confirmed or denied it either, and Draco wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know the truth.
Snape sighed and poured the hot water into the tea cups, seemingly mesmerized by the swirl of dark liquid the tea bags released.
"No, Draco, I'm afraid that they rather aren't. The Death Eaters are cruel, and shallow, and one would attack the next if he or she thought it would grant him the smallest crumb of the Dark Lord's favors. And as for that one, he cares little for their struggles and only for what they can grant him. He uses them and casts them aside, would torture them if bored, and kill them with as little passion as you might have for squashing a fly. He's a cold, cold man, and not one easily crossed."
He offered Draco a cup and saucer, and Draco accepted it. It wasn't truly an answer, not a definitive one to the question that had been behind the question, but at least the one had been answered.
"He won't help Father, will he? I know that the Dementors are gone, but Azkaban is still guarded by wizards. Without his wand, I don't think Father can escape. The Dark Lord could, if he wanted to."
Snape shook his head again and took a sip of tea.
"It's likely that he won't, Draco. The Dark Lord does not look kindly on failure. If the execution goes through, I doubt that he would raise a finger to help those who allowed themselves to get caught."
Draco shivered, suddenly cold again. The heat of the cup seemed to burn his chilled fingers as he pressed them tight against the hot side.
"It's far more likely that he will move to recruit you," Snape went on, and the unreadable look was back.
Draco blinked at him and nearly dropped the cup.
"What? Me? But I mean, I'm not even graduated yet, I'm no where near of age, he couldn't want to recruit me. I mean, could he?"
He looked at Snape almost wildly, realized that he looked desperate but didn't bother to try and contain his emotions. He'd always been a lousy actor, his father had told him often enough. He felt things too strongly, couldn't manage to hide how he felt, even when it caused him trouble. Snape thankfully seemed to be ignoring it.
Snape shrugged and took another sip.
"I would think so. You're a powerful wizard if, perhaps, a touch slow when dueling." He shot Draco an annoyed look. Draco flushed and realized that Snape had probably seen the pitiful attempt he had made at dueling Potter in the hall moments before. "And with your father out of commission, perhaps permanently, then it would seem that he would move to the next best thing."
The chill didn't seem to be leaving. The dungeons were often cold, but usually Draco couldn't feel it to this extent. He shuddered again and some of the tea slopped out to land with scalding heat on his leg. It burned for a moment then cooled into an icy patch on his trousers. It wasn't enough to distract him from the thoughts suddenly flying in his head, sharp as knives and just as painful.
He thought about how angry Potter's face had been when he'd rubbed it in that Lucius Malfoy, intelligent, dangerous, calmly cruel and on top of everything, Lucius Malfoy, was now in Azkaban. He thought of his mother and her note that 'everything is fine, dear, don't worry, I'll see you tomorrow, your father ought to be home by then' and the pale faces of the Slytherins as they'd crowded around him in the common room that morning, many of them seeking answers about their own parents and each of them wondering why they hadn't received owls. He remembered seeing the slight resentment on some of their faces, that a fifth year student was telling them this, while their own Head of House was no where to be seen, and how the rest had seemed more like they expected it to come from Draco and they hadn't thought of Snape at all.
He remembered the look of pleasure on Crouch's face when he had slammed Draco into the corner of a doorway, one day last year. How he'd grinned when Draco had winced, how the old man's fingers had dug into his arm and left marks like fat purple grapes on his upper arm and a line down his spine of both bruises and blood from the back of his head where Crouch had cracked against the sharp edge. Remembered the hateful, hateful tone of his voice, when he'd whispered "Like father, like son, eh? Apples don't fall far from the trees. You're just as cowardly a traitor as good old daddy, aren't you? Bloody papa's boy..." and how there had been something almost akin to jealousy mixed with the hate then in the false Moody's eyes.
"They're all like that, aren't they?" Draco whispered. His hands were trembling. He put the cup down on the edge of Snape's desk and clenched his fingers into fists which shook ever so slightly against his thighs.
"They certainly aren't the most congenial bunch," Snape said dryly. He was still watching Draco carefully, as though he expected the boy to say something of vast importance. "What would your answer be?"
It was a blunt question, lacking all Slytherin subtlety, but Draco supposed he could let that pass for the moment.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't want ...that. I don't want to be part of a group which would turn on each other like that, who would leave one another to *die* at the hands of their enemies when they could have just as easily saved them. But what's the alternative? Should I join up with Dumbledore, self proclaimed founder of the 'Let's Get Slytherin' club?"
He laughed shakily. "Some choice."
"Unfortunately," Snape said, pouring some more tea, "It's a choice which you'll have to make sooner than I'd expected. I should think He Who Must Not Be Named will be contacting you soon, likely before you return to Hogwarts next term."
"You won't tell him anything, will you?" Draco looked up, suddenly worried. If Voldemort got even the hint that Draco was unwilling to join him, he'd either be killed or placed under Imperius before he could blink. It galled him somewhat to even ask, but this was Snape, and he could show weakness, a little, with Snape more than any other person in the world.
"The Dark Lord? Or Dumbledore?"
"Both," Draco said, though he hadn't actually thought of Dumbledore's reaction. It wasn't like the headmaster would believe that Draco wasn't overly eager to join up with the Death Eaters regardless. He said as much and Snape smiled thinly.
"You might be surprised," he said cryptically, but refused to elaborate. Instead he reached across the desk and straightened the lapel of Draco's robes.
"You'd do well to think about it," he said, leaning back again. "And I think that you should follow my esteemed colleagues' advice. It truly is a lovely day out. You should spend some time in it."
Draco made a face, but stood and backed towards the door. He glanced at the now lukewarm tea.
"Thanks for the drink, Professor."
"You are most welcome. Perhaps next time you'll actually partake of it. And, Draco," the sallow skinned man hesitated for a moment. There was an emotion in his eyes, something which Draco could read entirely, but Draco didn't mind. It was better than the carefully blank expression. Snape continued. "I won't say anything to either party, regarding your decision. But... If you would like, I am always available for my students. Send an owl, if you need anything."
Draco shrugged and turned to go. He could feel Snape's beetle black eyes on him, and it made his skin itch. The corridor outside Snape's office was dark and the torches didn't seem to help much. Crammed full of dead things floating in dust covered glass jars though it was, the office seemed suddenly warmer and considerably friendlier than the outside.
Ignoring a vague feeling of trepidation, Draco stepped into the hall and let the office door swing shut behind him.
He'd spent the entire year hiding from this, playing Umbridge's games against the Gryffindors, ensuring that Slytherin took the House Cup, even if he'd lost them the Quidditch one. Looking back, it seemed he'd been as careless as a first year, hardly thinking about anything at all outside of his schoolwork and next prank, not worried in the slightest about the consequences. It had been fantastic to not worry about Moody-Crouch, to be free of that, and he'd reveled in the feeling.
Now it seemed as though there was a darker trap than anything Crouch could have composed and it was hanging over his head. He'd spent the last year enjoying being a kid. Now -Father in prison, Mother almost insane with grief, Snape a Death Eater, the Death Eaters' traitors to the cause he'd been raised to believe in /unity, power, brotherhood/ - it seemed that he'd finally have to grow up.
He squared his shoulders. Draco walked into the darkness, eyes kept firmly on the light ahead.
June 25, 2003
A response fic to Order. I know that the vision I had of Draco at the end of GoF wouldn't have acted as he had in OotP. I wanted to give, perhaps, an explanation of why he did.
As always, comments and criticism is greatly appreciated.
Ja.